


canis morhenis

by kaermorons



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen, Kaer Moron, Misunderstandings, No beta we die like stregobor should have, The Care and Keeping of Witchers, crimes against taxonomical structures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25116292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Jaskier is a bit too creative in his insults. Some of them tend to fly over Geralt's head. Except this one.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 147





	canis morhenis

**Author's Note:**

> idek y'all my brain went "kaer moron" and I went nuts. Linnaeus is rolling in his grave, and wasn't even born until the 1700s.
> 
> UPDATE: I've changed my Tumblr and AO3 handles: I am now @kaermorons and WAS imnotokiedokey/gywnbleidd

For all that Geralt claimed to be a wonderful multitasker, he couldn’t get the hang of listening to Jaskier without misunderstanding him. Geralt was stubbornly patching himself up, since when Jaskier did it, he tended to go a bit overboard with the mother henning. Thinly veiled insults wrapped in carefully chosen words of affection were what went for bard healthcare these days. He was also pretty handy with sutures.

Jaskier could at least provide “care” from across the clearing because Geralt growled whenever he got too close. As it was, he was also growling at his lute, sat pretty and inoffensive in his lap. “Well then. I suppose I should return to Oxenfurt and bring back a certificate of my ability to care for the unfortunate breed of  _ canis moronis _ I have apparently been saddled so horribly with.”

Geralt had stopped his horrible stitches to give Jaskier a considering look, which the bard did not see. Had he looked, he would have seen some kind of cogs working behind those golden eyes, shifting and settling.

But Geralt had misheard. This was made apparent when he next met with his brothers, that winter.

“Jaskier said something interesting.”

“Oh, don’t let him hear you said that.” Lambert laughed.

“You and I all know we’re not men. We’re...not really anything, but he said something interesting that I thought I’d share. He called us  _ canis morhenis.” _

The four sat in contemplative silence. Morhen Wolf. There were no other canids that lived (for very long) in the Morhen Valley besides the Wolves in the keep, it made sense.

“I think I have a treatise somewhere about the characteristics of Witchers. We could get it written into the taxonomy.” Vesemir got up and went searching in the library.

The whole winter was spent devoted to researching and writing about their own species. Eskel brought up a very important point.

“They’re never going to believe us if they know it was written by Witchers.”

They hummed in mild frustration.

“The bard is a professor, no?” Vesemir brought up. Geralt nodded. “Go find the bard and bring him next Winter. We will have our place among the creatures of the Continent.”

It was decided. Jaskier was going to Kaer Morhen, on a strictly scientific purpose. The next year was spent dropping strategically-placed hints, even talking more and more to Jaskier to cultivate some kind of need to continue being in his presence. Geralt had never been nervous about living up to Jaskier’s image of him, but for the first time, he wondered if walking in his company was leaving the bard wanting.

He asked Jaskier if he’d studied animals at all while in Oxenfurt. The man replied that no, he was a bard, not a biologist, but he has slept with most of the staff and has some knowledge of taxonomy and species traits. This put Geralt in a good mood; at least Jaskier wouldn’t be bored.

As autumn approached, however, his efforts gained a frantic note to them. Asking Jaskier if he owned a warm coat, if he had good shoes for hiking, if he had a fur-lined cloak. He’d done everything to prepare the bard except ask, it turned out, but luckily the bard spoke Geralt.

“Are you preparing to kidnap me to Kaer Morhen for the winter, Geralt?” he asked one night, laid out under the stars.

“No. Yes. Yeah. Will you come?” Geralt rolled over on his bedroll, looking nervously at the bard. “We all want you to come stay with us.”

“All?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes, me, my brothers, Vesemir.” Geralt swallowed. “Roach misses you sometimes.”

“Okay now you’re just making shit up. I’ll go, you don’t need to convince me. A winter with the wolves? Who would pass that up.”

So it was decided. That November, they began the trek up into the Blue Mountains, before the worst of the snow came. Maybe Geralt was a little excited to have his bard in the keep, to legitimize their species. He was proud to introduce him to his brothers, who all promised to keep their teasing to a minimum, lest Jaskier not want to help with their research.

The first few days were spent with just him and Vesemir, as his brothers preferred to walk on the snow up to the old keep. Vesemir, for his part, grilled Jaskier on his loyalty to Geralt, his education, how many published treatises he had, and more for hours, and even through supper and a nightcap. Jaskier was rather overwhelmed by the attention, but after Geralt told Vesemir to take it easy, they had all winter, he kept his interrogation to mealtimes, where at least Jaskier could stall with food in his mouth.

The others arrived a day after one another, Eskel first, then Lambert. The snow stuck to the courtyard, which brought with it a chill Jaskier almost couldn’t handle. Geralt took to keeping him in the library, warm and safe from the chill, surrounded by books with long-lost secrets. They’d agreed to leave several open, to pique Jaskier’s interest before they asked him to help with their research.

It worked.

Jaskier began asking his own questions of the Witchers, detailed enough that he could simply get a yes or a no, but eventually, as the snow fell harder, he began to ask open-ended questions: how, and why? They knew they could not give all of their secrets to the human, for most of them hardly remembered them enough to tell, but Jaskier seemed more than pleased with the information he was given. Geralt chastised himself for being so stingy on the details, growing used to the sparkle in Jaskier’s eye.

The new, interesting presence in the old keep brought stories first told many decades ago, tales of monsters and noble heroes and incredible magic. Jaskier was quite distraught when his charcoal pencil ran out in his notebook, but was curiously delighted when Geralt brought him a new one.

He knew just the right kind Jaskier preferred.

The others buttered him up as well, plying him with gifts they found while rummaging through the keep: a book on fighting techniques, an old dead Witcher’s journal. Jaskier kept them on the small desk in his room. And how curious was that, to provide him with a desk when most of the Witchers preferred to work in the library?

It all clicked one night when Jaskier said, “I find this entire place so fascinating, I feel I could fill a hundred books and not be satisfied.”

The four Witchers shared a glance that made him quite wary. “We wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Did you not want me to bring any of your stories and tales on the road? I would not impart the secrets you’ve shared—”

“No, Jaskier. That’s not...That’s kind of the opposite of what we wanted to ask.” Geralt began, pulling out a sheaf of scribbled notes, written in four hands. “I may not have been entirely straightforward about why I wanted to bring you. Why we all wanted you here.”

Jaskier’s mind went through all the worst possibilities before he looked closer at the scrawl at the top of the first page before him.

_ Canis morhenis. _

It brought him back to a night, two years past, under the stars with Geralt being stupid, like always.

“Oh, gods.” Jaskier groaned and his head sank to the table. The other four started talking at once.

“We haven’t been legitimate in the eyes of man for many centuries, and—”

“What if this helps us get some more fame around the continent? I mean your songs are so—”

“Perhaps if you just kept reading, and corrected things as you saw fit? No one would believe us in Oxenfurt—”

“I thought we were  _ fascinating,  _ Jaskier—”

“QUIET.” Jaskier barked, grabbing his pencil. “I’ll help you, by the gods, I’ll do it.” He rubbed at his temples, groaning again. A smudge of charcoal rubbed onto his forehead.

The Witchers were silent as he read all three hundred pages.

He read until the fire almost began to gutter out, and Eskel kept it alive with Igni.

Jaskier returned to the first page. “Alright.” He picked up his pencil. “The approval process is peer-reviewed, and nobody knows as much about Witchers as I do, save perhaps—”

“Countess Mignole.” The four Witchers intoned. Jaskier sat back in his seat.

“How long have you been planning this?” he asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing. Most of them cowed.

“Since last winter.” Geralt mumbled into his ale, looking anywhere but Jaskier.

Jaskier knew that were he to scatter the academic dreams of his four beautiful Kaer Morons, they’d never let him near the keep again. He considered the pages before him. Aside from all the misspellings and almost indecipherable handwriting, they really had done the work.

“Let’s get to it in the morning. I’m drinking tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shout at me on [tumblr](https://kaermorons.tumblr.com/)!


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